


Sentimental

by Rhialoviction



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blood, Captive, Chains, Gen, Gore, Gunplay, Holy Chuck I'm going to be so mean to the boys in this one, Hurt, Hurt!Sam, Hypothermia, Hypothermic!Dean, Impaling, M/M, Near Drowning, Pain, Rape, Torture, Wincest if you squint, chained, hostage, hurt!Dean, near-drowning, non-con, shackles, whip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-06-06 12:47:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6754402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhialoviction/pseuds/Rhialoviction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley has a sick and twisted way of showing affection.<br/>The boys definitely don't return his sentiments.<br/>Torture ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd

Dean’s heart froze in his chest when he heard Sam’s scream echoing down the decrepit hallways of the abandoned insane asylum.  He death-gripped his pistol and pressed his back against the cold cement wall to keep himself from crashing forward, tearing his way through the broken glass and grunge and cobwebs to help Sam.

 

He had one shot at this creature, whatever it was, and if he blew it both brothers would be dead.

 

The element of surprise was crucial.

 

Dean scrunched his eyes closed as another wave of Sam’s agony echoed from the darkness ahead.  The older hunter stifled the panic rising from within and quickly but quietly resumed moving forward.

 

Rounding a corner with his gun held at point Dean could make out the large rotting wooden door that was between him and Sam, its frame outlined with cracks of light.  He exhaled, watching his breath cloud up in a mist before he felt the chill surround himself.  Somehow the room behind the door was radiating cold.

 

As Dean crept closer he started to make out more sounds in between Sam’s tortured cries.

 

“No, no _don’t_! Don’t. Ple—” Sam’s pleading cut off again into anguished scream and Dean slammed his boot into the barrier between the brothers.

 

The door crashed to the ground and before the dust settled Dean shot three bullets into the chest of the creature standing over his little brother. 

 

“Sam!”  Dean took in the scene before him, still holding his gun at the ready while everything registered.

 

There was Sam, lying on his back, naked for all intents and purposes, and chained to a steel table of sorts, arms extended outwards and strapped to the table’s metal limbs in a sick parody of a crucifixion.  Droplets of sweat were dripping from his hair, clinging to his skin, no doubt from the exertion of yelling for so long and so loud.  Beads of blood seeped from what looked like lash-marks covering his entire torso.

 

It was worse though.

 

The creature standing above Sam, the monster that had been needlessly torturing him until Dean lodged some silver in its chest, started to dissolve into thin air, a familiar form taking its place.

 

Dean lowered his weapon and glanced at Sam only to see matched terror reflected in his brother’s red-rimmed eyes.  His every muscle tensed as the dark figure spoke.

 

“Hello Boys.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley lays out the stakes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blood, gore, and personal space violations ahead

“Dean, so glad of you to join the soiree.  It’s rather a shame about the suit though,” the demon looked down at the three bullet holes in the chest of its black business jacket.  “was tailor-made.”

 

“You, sonofabitch.  You let him go right now, Crowley!”

 

With a flick of a wrist the pistol was jerked from his grasp, flying across the room to clatter against the far wall.

 

“Really, Dean?  You were relying on that pebble-poker?”

 

Three distinct pings reached Dean’s ears as the bullets that Crowley expelled from his meatsuit hit the floor.  “Not even carved with a devil’s trap,” The demon chastised.  “What, no magic bullet for me?  I'm offended.”

 

Crowley’s hand waived in dismissal and Dean let out an umph of air as he was thrown against the stone-hard wall closest to the foot of the steel table.  Crowley let Dean slide to the floor when the hunter’s legs buckled so that he was sitting on the ground with his torso still held against the wall by demonic force.

 

Dean groaned, shadows swimming through his slowly returning vision.

 

“Well hey there handsome.  Finally, at the proper, undignified height.”

 

Dean raised his pounding head to find the crotch of Crowley’s tailor-made trousers too close to his face for comfort.  Raising his head further still, he could see Crowley’s slimy grin looking down at him.  His brain was still to foggy to come up with a sarcastic retort, and his usual bravado was wavering so Dean mumbled, “You’re a proper height.”

 

Crowley snorted, unamused, and sauntered back to exposed Sam’s side.

 

That cleared Dean’s head like a blast of frozen wind.

 

“Stay away from him.”

 

“Or what?”

 

Dean glared at his captor.

 

“Seriously Dean, you’ve already proven yourself worthless at besting me.  How am I ever supposed to feel threatened into complying?  That is, unless you have something worth offering.  I’m always happy to make a deal.”

 

“Suck it, Crowley.”

 

“Au contraire,” and the hackles on Dean’s neck stood on end.  Crowley sounded way to gleeful for anything good to be about to happen.  Dean’s head really hurt now.  He grimaced as Crowley took a step away from Sam again.

 

“I have an offer to make you,” Crowley paused, raising his palm and using his demonic abilities to lift two stakes from the tool stand and suspend them above the pulse point of Sam’s bared wrists.  And as much as it horrified Dean to realize that Crowley had a set of torturer’s tools, some freshly stained, laid out on a stand next to his vulnerable little brother, the fear he could hear in Sam’s unsuccessfully suppressed whimper cut through Dean’s core.

 

Dean remained silent.  He couldn’t say the wrong thing here, for Sam’s sake.

 

Crowley’s eyes glowed in triumph, though neither Winchester noticed the brief flash of smoldering red corneas.

 

The demon stooped to pick up something from behind the steel table, Dean strained to see what.  Crowley reemerged with a set of shackles.  “I want you to put these on,” he said as he approached the already trapped hunter.  He stooped down to fasten the chain links to a ring embedded in the cement wall just above Dean’s head.

 

“What? Why?”

 

“Do you really want to waste my time with stupid questions?” Crowley asked, returning to his full height.

 

Sam let out a yelp and Dean’s wide eyes realized that the stakes still hovering above Sam’s wrists had pressed down just hard enough to break the skin.

 

“Wait, wait!  I’ll do it, fine! Just please don’t hurt Sam.”

 

Crowley kneeled so he was eye-level with Dean, “If you put the cuffs on yourself, I promise I won’t hurt Sam anymore.”

 

“Is that a deal?”  Dean asked defiantly.

 

“Dean, no,” Sam struggled to be heard, as though he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs, most likely broken ribs. Dean felt the crushing weight lifted and he was able to move his arms again. 

 

“It is if you seal it.”  Crowley’s voice was eerily breathy and close enough that Sam had no time to make any protest before Dean surged forward, crushing his mouth against their greatest adversary’s open lips.  For a moment Crowley’s overly-aggressive tongue dominated Dean’s awareness before the demon bit through his lower lip and pulled away from the binding kiss.

 

Holding Crowley’s gaze without blinking, Dean steadied his breathing before he reached up to fasten one cuff, then the other, ignoring the cold bite of the thick steel around his wrists.

 

“Jokes on you though,” Dean smirked.  “You forgot to close the loopholes.”

 

Crowley stood and returned to his torturer’s workbench.  “Oh? What might those be?”  Crowley patronized.  Dean noticed the stakes still hovering above Sam’s wrists, although now it looked as though they might also be rotating in place, like a standing threat of drilling into the fair skin if Dean even thought about breaking their newly sealed deal.

 

The demon picked up two, long thin nails from his workbench.  “Perhaps, were you thinking that I forgot to say you couldn’t take them off?  Or that I forgot to lock them shut?”

 

Dean took a breath but before he could deny the accusation the stakes slammed down into his little brother’s wrists, long and thick enough that they effectively nailed his arms to the steel beneath.

 

“Argh! You bastard!” Dean lunged forward, intent on breaking his bonds.  He was jerked backwards by his wrists which were still somehow encircled in the unlocked metal cuffs.  “We had a deal! You promised you wouldn’t hurt him!”

 

“Did I? Oh right, I did!” Crowley scolded.  “Believe it or not, I am a demon of my word, Dean.”

 

 The hunter seethed with rage, wanting nothing more than to rip through that smug expression.  Crowley sighed, “Sam, are you in any pain?” 

 

“Dean?”  Sam said a little too calmly.  Dean tore his eyes from the backstabber to survey the damage done, to see how his own error in judgement had ripped through his brother’s flesh.  But Sam’s wrists weren’t bleeding.  And he didn’t appear to have just undergone another round of torture. Come to think of it, Dean hadn’t heard Sam scream at all this time.  When the brothers finally locked eyes Dean saw his own concerns mirrored back at him through Sam’s hazel tinged tears.

 

That’s when Dean realized he had heard a scream.  Shifting back so he was once again sitting against the wall, Dean’s gaze wandered over to his suspended arms, following a stream of blood that lead up to a hole in the cuffs Dean hadn’t noticed was there before.  In fact, there were two holes in each cuff, and the holes lined up across from one another so that a thin spike could be secured straight through them.  Dean recognized the spikes currently situated between the bones of his fore-arms as the thin nails Crowley had been holding only moments before.  His stomach backflipped once he looked close enough to see that the nails were now fused with the metal of the cuffs.  So much for locks.  Crowley didn’t need to lock these.  The only way out was for Dean to tear through sinew and bone and flesh and even if he could he thought he would probably pass out first, not to mention be useless in any ensuing fight.

 

Then the pain struck full force.

 

Dean ground his jaw together and fought off making any sound that might delight the demon.  He snapped his attention back to their captor just in time to witness what was probably Crowley’s first genuine chuckle.

 

The sound was disturbing for both brothers.

 

Without a word Crowley selected a shearing knife from the work bench and plunged it into Sam’s side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do I have to do right now?  
> About 10 major projects.  
> What am I going to do instead?  
> Write some winchester whumpage.  
> Yay procrastination. (And yay creativity in the face of depression. Only real plus side to it all, might as well use it)
> 
> Oh, god. I think I dreamed this over a year ago, about Crowley putting stakes through Sam's hands while he made Dean watch, and have just been building on it and building on it ever since.
> 
> That's usually how my favorite stories come about. Inspired by a dream.
> 
> I am fueled by comments, or just any acknowledgement that my existence has somehow come into contact with yours.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's reasonings...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More blood and gore, don't worry, I'll get to the non-con soon

Dean couldn’t stop choking on the blood that was bubbling up his throat.

 

He was starting to understand the sadistic purpose of the cuffs splitting his wrists, and also probably the stakes impaling Sam’s.  Somehow Crowley had cursed these two objects so that they were connected.  Dean’s cuffs were like antennae for the spikes, and the signal was pain.

 

Doubled over as best he could be while still chained in place Dean looked down at his side to where the knife wound was.  Or ought to have been.

 

There was no blood.  Dean could feel the blade as if it were beneath his own skin, but there was no darkened stain spreading from the point of impact.  Come to think of it he wasn’t hacking out any red-tinged phlegm either.

 

With a grunt he forced himself upright and saw a trickle of blood slipping down Sam’s clenched jaw.  Through bleary eyes he could make out Crowley’s stilled hand, pressing the knife into Sam’s body.  Crowley waited for Dean to sit up all the way before twisting the blade again.  He enjoyed watching as the elder hunter’s face screwed up and his wrists tore against the cuffs, hands straining to clutch for the invisible wound.

 

“Stop it! Stop! No, Dean! Crowley, please!”

 

The younger Winchester momentarily gained Crowley’s attention.  Sam was straining to lift his head without pulling against the blade more.

 

“What?” said the demon.  “Is something bothering you.”

 

Crowley made his point by swiveling the knife around in Sam’s insides.  Sam watched as blood gushed, his abdomen bulging with the motion of the blade, but he didn’t feel it at all.  The sensationless experience almost made him nauseous, he should be in immense pain from this, except Dean was the one with fraying vocal chords.  With each twist Dean howled inconsolably until he couldn’t take in air any longer and he continued to scream in silence.  The horror scene was taking Sam back to the day that hellhounds were tearing his brother apart while he watched, and he had never wanted to see something like that again.

 

“Please! God, just stop! Why are you doing this?”

 

Crowley indulged himself with one more gorey thrust before carefully sliding the blade out and wiping it with a cloth.

 

Dean heaved in a gush of breath and slumped down in his bonds, barely able to keep his eyes from flickering shut.

 

“Sentimentality.”

 

Sam was silent, then hysterical, “What? What do you mean?”

 

Crowley groaned, but conceded another response.  “One could say that I’m sentimental when it comes to you Winchesters.  And vice versa.  You for me.  After all, neither of us has offed the other in, well it’s nearing a decade now.  I think that’s something to celebrate, don’t you?”

 

Sam scrunched his eyebrows together in disbelief.  “You call this celebrating?”

 

“You’re a sick puppy.” Dean mumbled, surprising everyone.

 

“Do not, call me, a puppy.  And yes, I have always enjoyed the frivolities of BDSM culture, particularly the S.  Actually I invented a few of the trade standards, if we’re all being honest here.”

 

“Oh god, this is you getting your rocks off?” Dean managed to ask.

 

“No. Not really.  If I actually decided to go to town with the two of you, the both of you would already be dead.  This is me cheating.  Because I’m sentimental.”

 

Dean and Sam exchanged looks.  Neither Winchester said anything to that.

 

Crowley took their silence as a signal to continue.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes, non-con coming up probably next chapter.  
> I definitely know where this is going, just not how it should end yet. Don't worry, everybody lives. I have yet to decide whether they will remain intact though...
> 
> Please share your feels with me, I'm an empath so I love to feel the love, or hate. Just make me feel what you feel...in the comments...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's get down to business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: non-con up ahead. Don't read if that's not your thing.
> 
> (It's a weird thing to have, by the way, but by my reasoning it's because fantasy totally works when reality totally does not.)

“Now, let’s get down to the dirty details of why you’re really here.”

 

Not one to miss an opportunity for mixing business and pleasure, Crowley selected a ball gag from his array of sadistic devices.

 

“I happen to have it on good authority that the big bad wolf has a chink in her armor.  A little birdie told me that you two numbskulls know where to aim the proverbial black arrow.”

 

“What?” Sam replied, trying to ignore the gag in Crowley’s hand.

 

“Now Moose, don’t play coy.”  Crowley stroked his fingers down the side of Sam’s face, causing the hunter to jerk his head away, winkling his nose in disgust.  “Oh, and let’s not pretend there haven't been some chemical reactions between you and I.  Yes, we all remember squirrel sparked some kinks deep within for a short time, but sparks tend to fizzle.  What we have is fusion, shared foxholes, and what not.”

 

Sam felt his face heat up as he remembered all of Crowley’s uncomfortable attempts at backhanded flirting.  He always wrote those moments off as antagonistic dickage, but was beginning to fear he got the wrong impression.

 

“I have, absolutely, no idea what you are talking about,” Sam deadpanned.  “And your little bird must be a total idiot because we haven’t found any weaknesses.  We haven’t found jack shit and you know it!” Dean thought this was probably not the best time for Sam’s sass to make an appearance.

 

“Come on now, Sam.  I have insiders inside insiders!”  Crowley paused, but Sam remained silent.  “Playing hard to get really doesn’t suit you, Sammy.  Let’s see if you’re easier to get hard, shall we?”  Just as Sam was about to denounce the nickname Crowley forced gag between clenched his teeth and slipped the straps around to fasten behind his head.

 

Abject horror began emanating from the younger Winchester and Dean didn’t need cursed shackles to feel it too.

 

“Hey!  You touch him and I will _end_ you Crowley.  You hear me?”

 

“Again, with the threats, Peach?  Really, I can see why Sam is the smart one.” 

 

Crowley snapped his fingers and suddenly his own meatsuit was devoid of any couture coverings, on glorious display for the boys, middle-aged belly, hairy ass, and all.

 

Dean forced himself not to break damning eye contact, despite his stomach trying to rebel its contents at the sight of the naked demon standing next to his equally naked brother.  Meanwhile Sam was intensely focused on the ceiling above, trying to think of nothing more than how many shades of grey were up there, the flecks of paint missing, lightning-bolt shaped cracks running through the stone.

 

Crowley didn’t blame the kid.  After all, he had chosen this body for a very well-endowed reason.  It’s not as if he was going to trade his soul for extra willie and then pass up on further enhancements in the afterlife.

 

“What say you squirrel, ready to give up the goods?  If not, I’m sure Sam will be delighted to, after we have a long, deep conversation of course.”

 

Sam’s nervous adam’s apple gave him away.  As much as he wanted to, he wasn’t going to be able to tune this out.

 

“Crowley, no, he doesn’t know anything.  Don’t do this.  Let him go and you and I can talk all you want.”  Dean knew what he was offering.  Sam knew it too and tried to make a noise of protest.

 

Crowley looked from one captive to the other, gauging their act.  Even if it was true that the hunters had no clue about said desired information, he was too close to having his way with Sam to even consider letting Dean take his delicious brother’s place.

 

Without another exchange of words, the table Sam was staked to lowered itself in height and abruptly jolted to a stop, supporting the trapped hunter just a few feet off the ground.  Crowley made a show of mounting his prize, then glanced over his shoulder to see the wrath in Dean’s eyes.  The demon ignored more valiant threats and lined himself up with Sam’s unwilling entrance.  Stealing a moment to once again appreciate his own size, Crowley smiled at the man beneath him, then drove his member up to the hilt inside of an achingly tight Sam Winchester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will probably overhaul this whole thing, get rid of typos and awkward phrasing, once it's all finished. Just giving you all a heads up.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for the worst kind of pain,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: again with the non-con

Dean swore at the top of his lungs, cursing the demon and succumbing to the overwhelming pain radiating up his own spine.  Sam failed to clench his tendon-torn fists as he braced himself.  But he was so desperate to relax before the intrusion, maybe, it worked.  He must have done something right because that hadn’t felt bad at all.  Even worse, it almost felt good.

 

Crowley started setting a pace, finally reveling in the Winchester’s sinful flesh, taking the would-be boy king as his own, at last.  One of the reasons he loathed the boys so much was that he envied their inherent importance.  He had had to claw and scratch and bite his way to the top whilst all Sam and Dean did to be noticed by the powers that be, was exist.  That hateful tension had been building for long enough that Crowley craved this release.

 

Sam’s entire awareness was filled with denial.  Mouth hanging open and prostate getting reamed by something larger than nature had intended for this purpose, Sam started to feel himself getting hard.  This didn’t make sense.  He shouldn’t be enjoying his own violation by a demon he wanted to kill.

 

Eventually sound returned to Sam’s senses, bringing his attention to the sharp gasps and groans coming from his brother.

 

Dean was holding the chains attached to his cuffs, pulling himself so only his boots connected with the ground.  With each thrust Crowley simultaneously dealt pleasure and pain to the boys.  Sam could experience nothing but the ecstasy of intercourse, and Dean’s entire being was reduced to the horror of rape.

 

Sam tried to call out to Dean, tell him anything, but the gag stopped any soothing balm Sam’s words might have had.

 

For a moment Dean wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.  Here he was, feeling torn apart from within by means of his little brother’s violation, and what’s more, for a second Dean was grateful that Crowley had lured him here, tricked him into these cuffs, because that meant Sam didn’t have to endure more torture.  His brother couldn’t feel, well, this felt like hell.

 

Sam’s mind was probably another story though.  Dean knew from experience that he couldn’t protect him there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, I have such a dark soul for such a smiley little person.  
> All my friends describe me as cute...if they only knew...
> 
> Let me know if you want more. I can probably squeeze some hurt-comfort out of some procrastination time tomorrow if you should so desire


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam forms a plan.

Sam awoke to the sharp scent of burnt flesh.  He stretched his jaw, no longer held open by the gag, and blinked his eyes into focus.  He could see the charred red of his side-wound that must have cauterized sometime after he blacked out.  Sam snorted at Crowley’s thoughtfulness. As the threat of bleeding out quickly dissipated from Sam’s mind he tested his restraints, then turned his attention to his brother.

“Dean?” Sam rasped.

They were alone together in the grunge covered room.

Dean was unconscious now, sagging against the wall, wrists literally pinned above him by those cursed cuffs.  Sam grimaced, thinking about the amount of pain that must have caused his brother to pass out, especially if it was proportional to the intensity of Sam's third...

Regardless, Sam was thankful Dean hadn’t experienced the entire rape.

“Dean,” Sam tried again.

The older hunter remained stone-still.

Sam stared at Dean for a while, an awful plan forming in his mind.

He called out to Dean one more time, making certain that his brother was out cold, then tensed his arms with all his might.  Muscle and tendon strained to break free from the cursed stakes as well as the leather straps.  Unimpeded by pain Sam felt a strange sensation, edging on vertigo.  He continued to tear at his own flesh without hesitation, unable to suppress a yelp of surprise when both of his arms ripped away from the steel table.

Dean’s chains disintegrated in the same instant.

Sam paused to watch his brother slump to the ground, then sat up and quickly made work of the leg restraints.  Ignoring the blood that flowed down his forearms, he slid off the table and fell to his knees by Dean.

Sam cradled Dean’s head in his hands, lifting a wrist for inspection.  The chains were gone, but the cuffs were still there.  Sam froze.  It wasn’t cuffs encircling Dean’s wrists, but stove-black imprints.  Almost like tattoos, showcasing the ornate engravings that had adorned the cuffs. 

Sam swore. "Aw fu-"

The metal door flew open.

A group of demons rushed towards Sam, dragging him away from Dean and out of the room.

“No! What did you do to him?!” Sam shouted.

Dean began to stir just before the door slammed, blocking him from Sam's sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, another chapter! Sorry for the wait


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys have been separated

 “Agh!”  Dean’s eyes shot open as he fell off the cot onto the cold floor.  Freezing waves rolled across his back.  His spine arched against the icy sharp pains, his forearms throbbing.

Unable to catch his breath, Dean managed to lift his head and take in his surroundings.  He was on the floor of a small, iron-barred cell with only a cot, a moth-eaten blanket, and a hole in one corner.

It was then that he noted the black designs decorating the skin of his wrists.

"Ahw, f-"

Dean started violently shivering.  His breath came in short bursts since his lungs were somehow not able to fill with enough air.

Footsteps echoed from beyond the cell.

Dean panted against the crushing cold as he watched Crowley’s polished black Wing Tips draw near.

“Hello Dean.”

The shaking hunter glared up at the King of Hell. 

“W-whe-re’s S-s-sam?”

***

Sam gasped and wheezed as soon as the flow of cascading water stopped.

He was chained on his knees, wrists behind the small of his back, connected to more chains that locked his ankles with the floor.  Water droplets accented the contours of his blue-tinged form, still naked.

Sam rose up as best as he could in his forced crouch.  He tried to shift his weight to find a way that lessened the strain on his joints.  Not because he felt the strain, but because he was sure that Dean did, wherever he was.

Sam's body, still trying to make up for a lack of oxygen, caused him to heave violently.

He could see the fog of his breath.

“Oh, god.  Dean."

His brother was probably near-hypothermic by this point.

Sam knew every moment of his unfelt misery was being heaped upon his brother.  This made Sam feel even more miserable, if only emotionally.

Sound faded into his awareness.  Two voices echoed from beyond the darkened room, bouncing off the water on the floor.  Apparently the drain had been unable to keep up with the tons of gallons that had been pounding into Sam’s back for the past hour.

Sam could hear the beginnings of a fight brewing, most likely Crowley was demoting the demon who had stopped the waterfall.

Sam just barely made out the words “brother” and “soul” before the water was turned back on, rushing from the ceiling, once again slamming into his bare back.

Hunched over as best he could be, Sam focused on panting through the thunderous downpour so that Dean would not drown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one night! That feels good to have out there.
> 
> The image that inspired part of this chapter is here:
> 
> http://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/hostedimages/1380393380i/757394._SY540_.png
> 
> What do you think? Hopefully there will be more soon

**Author's Note:**

> Comments appreciated


End file.
